


and we will live happily ever after

by hl (hele)



Category: 28 Days Later (2002)
Genre: F/M, potentially disturbing, rape fantasy from the rapist pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-13
Updated: 2010-12-13
Packaged: 2017-10-13 16:01:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/139083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hele/pseuds/hl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>he’s got a shooter. he’s got a woman. he’s dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and we will live happily ever after

**Author's Note:**

  * For [redcandle17](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redcandle17/gifts).



He stops for a moment; the hallway extends behind him and a door lies in front. He knows it’s a bad idea to corner oneself. It’s a fucking _bad_ idea. There’s a soft thump above, and a shower of dust from the ceiling.

He listens, but his heart is pounding and his breath and the girl’s breath are loud now they’re not walking. There’s an echo of screams in his head.

Everything goes to hell so fucking fast. But he already knew that. It‘s been a string of fucked up situations one after the other since this whole thing started. Now it only means that he’s alone. He still has his shooter; he can take any number of fuckers if he finds a good position.

He starts towards the door, but the girl resists again. Fuck it, he thinks, and hauls her around, twisting her arm behind her, grabbing her by the neck.

The room is empty, and the fucking cunt struggles all the way to the window. The glass is cold against his forearm through his uniform, and he can hardly make anything out through the sheet of rain. The door is closed. The fuckers are behind him in the house.

He can’t think about that.

 _listen, sweetheart_

He wants to talk to her, he wants her to distract him. She’s there and warm and alive, and fuck it if he’s not going to have her after this is over.

The girl’s short nails will cut into his forearm, and Mitch will tighten it against her neck, bringing her flush against his chest. The window’s glass will be cold against his elbow, and she will be hot, struggling against him, but not really to get away. Her ass will wriggle against him in invitation.

He is suddenly so hard he can’t stand it.

He will move his free hand over her breast and below, and she will move into it, and then away, against him again. One of her hands will leave his forearm to grab at his hand, pulling at it. He will move it over her stomach, and grab her cunt with his whole hand, pressing against her from behind.

The dress -- the dress will get in the way. He will grab the slick material with one hand while he palms her breasts with the other, and bring it up, up over her legs.

 _you got me to protect you now_

He will whisper in her ear, use her name, will say a litany of phrases he knows to be calming (but don’t fucking work with this one). He will yank at the neckline of her dress, baring her nipples. He will say, ‘You’re with me now; we’re safe; no fucker can get us here.’

He will say, ‘It’s only us now.’

She will be trembling. She will stop trying to fight him off, she will understand he’s her salvation, and that she’s his.

He can smell her sweat on her neck, and he speaks into it trying to distract himself from the closed door and the closed window and the rain and the waiting silence.

His hand, his hand will come up, under the dress, and the dress will fall over it. He wants to watch. He wants to see his hand, his fingers disappearing into her pussy. She will be so wet, he can almost smell her now.

 _how about right now?_

Fuck fuck fuck, he can’t see anything. His heart is hammering blood like there’s no tomorrow.

Last time his heart was pumping this much, they had been answering an alarm, and looking at the side, his heart had skipped a beat; a fucker had crossed the lawn. It used to be a child, but it wasn’t anymore. Its face was smeared with blood.

He saw Mailer with his eyes wide, watching it come.

‘Shoot, you cunt!’ Mitch shouted.

Mailer didn’t shoot, didn’t shoot and it was gaining on them, gaining on Mailer, and then it was on top of him, fucking him up.

 _He_ ’s not Mailer. He’s going to make it. He’s going to live. He’s not going to be killed by a stupid fucker who couldn’t dodge a bullet up his ass.

 _believe me_

Mitch never doubted, never waited one second. He shot the last of his, hauled his shooter around and shot the mother-fucker dead. It was not a child. He had not killed a woman who could’ve been his mother just then. He had not killed his sister.

Mailer lay on the ground, the now-truly-dead-fucker on top of him, a red puddle soaking up the ground. He twitched.

Mitch took aim, trying to hit the face, erase the fucking stupid expression on Mailer’s face. He had never liked the coward cunt. It was truly a pleasure to do him in, and he was already planing to tell every fucking detail to fucking Farrell.

‘Mitchell!’ It was the Major. ‘We want him alive. Knock him out.’

He was a sick fuck, the Major, but Mitch could do that.

 _you see_

After three days cooped up inside the big house, after losing most of the company in the barricade, the Major had gathered them around, Jonas, the fucking coward, still drying his tears. ‘You will live,’ the Major had said.

He had promised them women.

Mitch had been sceptical, but they would be reduced to fucking the corpses or each other if they didn’t get some soon. Mailer had exchanged a look with Farrell -- the two stupid pussies probably didn’t _want_ women.

Only a week afterwards, the Major’s plan brought them two.

 _i'm gonna make her squirm_

But fuck, he’s tired of waiting. He has been thinking about how he would have her from the moment he laid eyes on her.

She would fight him off at the beginning, he knew from the start.

He would have her against the wall, on a window, on the floor, surrounded by his mates, with her hands tied, her legs around his hips, with her nails scrapping against his shoulders as she came, screaming her head off.

 _what's all the fucking shouting about?_

He hears echoes of it in his head. Humanity is getting fucked up the ass, and it’s not taking it easy. Shouts and wordless grunts and hoarse screams. He spends half the time hard after killing.

But the Major thought of a perfect solution, he thinks, eyeing the top of her breasts and her neck. She’s still breathing hard and he wants to turn her around, bend her over.

He can’t get distracted.

 _Mailer's loose_

The door, the door is closed. In the silence, his heart sounds like steps. He can’t stop speaking. He doesn’t want to hear anyone coming. He wants to see them, to shoot them, to go away and fuck this girl someplace safe. He does not even need a bed. He just needs to shoot the two three four motherfuckers dead and then he will fuck her where they stand.

 _come on!_

How many are there now? Clifton is one of them, he is sure it was him.

Get it together now, he thinks. I just need a moment now, he thinks. He says. He hears his voice as if coming from someone else, and tries to think only of this girl in his arms. Her breathing is harsh. She is not fighting him anymore.

 _it's just you and me now, darlin'_

She’s not fighting him, but he thinks she will fight him later.

He will bend her over the bed in this same room, his hands still deep in her pussy, and hold her down with a hand on her back. He thinks she will try to kick back, or buckle him over. He will have to convince her; she will like it.

 _then we'll find a nice little fucking place somewhere_

A noise in the ceiling. Lighting, he thinks. The fucking floods. The fucking old house and its fucking old noises.

He will live, and so will she.

 _just you and me._

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks to kristin & lin for betaing, and Doranwen for help with some pesky movie dialogue. All errors remaining are mine.


End file.
